


While You Were Asleep

by LetThereBeDestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas helps Dean sleep, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Healing, Hospitals, M/M, Mutual Pining, Soft Love, Strangers, cas is weird and smart, dean is a dork, in their twenties, smiling at each other like idiots, stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 01:58:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12973233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetThereBeDestiel/pseuds/LetThereBeDestiel
Summary: A war-shocked Dean finds that the only cure to his haunted insomnia is young Cas’ stories. They become closer and closer, and through Cas’ storytelling we learn about his childhood and life.(note: no descriptions of war & Dean is in a good shape, just having trouble sleeping. That'all. Enjoy :)





	1. Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Felt good about this fic tbh, so I saved it to post on my birthday! This is a rare occasion where I actually liked what I made. Hope you will too!
> 
> Also, thank you to my beautiful frens [Lindsey](https://www.instagram.com/fallingforfandoms_/) and [Amanda](https://www.instagram.com/lets_go_steal_a_tardis/) for proofreading and making this (and me) better. 

In a hospital room on a late November evening, a small yellowy bulb above one bed was the only source of light in the room. Below it lay a weak figure, breathing evenly in and out. Her right hand was resting on her stomach, as if to protect the big wound stitched neatly two layers of fabric beneath it. To her left, another hand occupied hers in a secure hold. When she looked at him, his grip tightened.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been stabbed,” she muttered.

A small smile settled on his lips. “Besides the obvious.”

She examined his face, his good eyes the bluest thing in the room. With a sting in her chest, she pulled her hand free and rested it on the blanket. 

“Shut up, Clarence,” She said to soften the gesture. 

They were quiet for a moment. Then she added, “This hole better heal faster. I want to be out of here by the end of the week.”

“You need to let your body rest,” Castiel replied. He glanced at his watch.

“Some of us have work to do,” she said, eyeing his movement. “You should go home.”

Personally, Castiel believed that a first degree in biology and a part-time job at the bookstore were a lot of work, but Meg seemed to disagree. He did accept that he should be getting home, though, as it was getting close to midnight and bus lines were beginning to shut down. He stood up from the uncomfortable plastic chair and put on his coat. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, and Meg nodded. He knew she thought he shouldn’t feel responsible for her, but he couldn’t help it.

He never forgot his past.

On his way out, he glanced at the bed on the other side of the room. Its occupant was a man in his late twenties with a broken leg, purple bruises staining his skin. Despite the late hour he seemed to be fully awake, but the dark bags under his eyes suggested that not voluntarily.

While Castiel was studying his wounded body, the man’s eyes moved to rest on his face. Fazed, Castiel looked away and stepped out of the room without a word.

 

* * *

 

That Saturday afternoon, three days later, was especially cloudy. Dean unpacked a box of cookies that his brother had brought him by the tiny table that was mostly unused by him and his temporary roommate Meg. His crutches, which usually stood leaning against the wall beside his bed, were tucked under his arms and supported his one functioning leg while he opened the box and grabbed a couple of cookies. When he was finished, he turned around and offered his roommate one.

“Are those stab-wound healing cookies?” She grumbled toward him.

He took that as a no and limped back to his bed.

“Who stabbed you, anyway?” He asked with a mouthful of cookies. 

“Some guy. Huge dick,” she muttered. When Dean looked at her weird, she added, "It's a competitive line of work."

That sparked more questions than answers, but Dean didn’t care enough to interrogate further. He lay down and chewed on his cookies, glancing at the wall clock; soon it would be time for Ms. Grumpy’s mystery friend to visit.

That was how the days passed: Sam came in the mornings, before college; Meg’s Clarence came in the evenings, and the only other visitors in the small room were doctors and nurses. Usually, Clarence would visit at a later hour – God only knows how they let him in after visiting hours – but today, Dean knew, he was picking her up to go home.

As Dean was pondering the nature of that odd man and his relationship with stabbed Ms. Grumpy, the guy appeared at the door, knocking lightly before he entered.

Dean looked away. _Weird._

“I brought you what you asked,” he heard the guy say, watching his own reflection in the window. Behind it, he could see Clarence giving Meg a plastic bag. With his help, she rose up and staggered slowly to the bathroom with the bag. When she was gone, Strange Guy sat down and looked straight forward.

Dean’s eyes tore from the window and looked the other direction – yes, the guy was looking at him. He frowned back at the intense stare.

Clarence’s eyes were incredibly lucid even from a distance, and his stare held a certain inquiring tone. For a moment, they looked at each other, and neither of them wanted to look away.

Then Meg was out of the bathroom, dressed up, and her friend stood up to help her back to her bed. Dean looked away as the two gathered Meg’s things and left.

“Bye, stranger,” she said to Dean before shuffling away.

 For the first time in a week and a half, he was left completely alone.

He looked at the other bed, wondering how long it will stay empty. Then he grabbed one of the books Sam had found in the attic for him to pass the days: “101 Ways To Torture and Seduce Unstable Moose Men”.  Five pages in, though, he saw someone standing at the door from the corner of his eye.

“I forgot my phone,” said Meg’s friend. His eyes were on the book held open in Dean’s hand. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Dean let his fingers slip from between the pages. The book fell on his lap with a thump and closed.

“You aren’t,” he said and watched the guy bend over by Meg’s bed.

“Here it is,” he mumbled and straightened up. They looked at each other, and there was the weird staring contest again. When Dean opened his mouth, the guy spoke.

“You have trouble sleeping,” he said. “A soldier, right?”

Dean stared at him for about ten seconds, taken aback. “How did you know?”

“Your skin is wounded pretty thoroughly and you look like you haven’t slept in days, yet you’re completely alert,” the guy said and shifted his legs. “The things you’ve seen won’t let you rest.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, untouched by the suggestion of his pain. “Do you know that from experience?”

Ignoring his question, the man asked, “Were you ever required to recite something as a student? A poem, maybe, or a part of a literary piece?”

“Um, yes,” Dean answered, puzzled. With furrowed eyebrows, he tried to bring up the memory. “Sixth grade – a verse of the old testament. Something about David and Jonathan,” he smirked. “They were totally gay for each other.”

The other man didn’t seem to find that amusing, and Dean’s grin faded.

“Try reciting that in your head,” he said and turned to walk away, leaving a befuddled Dean behind. 

“Hey, Clarence,” Dean called after him. “I never caught your name.”

The guy tilted his head.

“Your real name, I mean.”

With the slightest hint of a smile the man answered, “It’s Castiel,” and walked away.

Dean sat alone in his room, looking after Castiel, and smiled.


	2. Life Works In Mysterious Ways

The next evening, Dean was finishing his book when a knock on the door and a familiar face interrupted him.

“Forgot your phone again?” He teased with a smile, trying to act unsurprised as Castiel entered the room.

“No,” Castiel replied, oblivious to Dean’s humor again. “I hope you don’t find this strange – I came here regarding our talk yesterday.”

Dean didn’t want to tell the guy he found everything about him strange – his language, the way he moved stiffly, his solemn resting face (as if he were eighty years old, although he looked no older than twenty-five) – so he just shook his head.

“I’m actually glad I have the chance to thank you,” Dean said and wiggled up his bed until he was sitting up. “Your advice helped.”

“I know,” Castiel said dismissively and gestured at the chair by the bed. “May I?”

“Um, sure.”

Castiel sat down.

“So… What did you wanna talk about?” Dean asked, picking at the first piece of fabric his fingers could find.

“Close your eyes,” Castiel said, somewhat reluctantly.

“What?” Dean frowned at him.

“Close your eyes,” he repeated.

“I’m not gonna…”

“How much time did it take you to fall asleep last night?” He asked, looking into Dean’s eyes. “An hour? More?” Dean opened his mouth, but didn’t know what to say.

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

Dean’s forehead creased. The guy stared at him, waiting.

“Um… okay,” Dean agreed hesitantly. Slowly, he closed his eyes, and his hearing immediately got sharper in search for a suspicious sound. Still in sitting position, he tried to make himself as comfortable as he could.

He was expecting Castiel to hypnotize him, or maybe start chanting in Latin and put him into a trance – so when Castiel did something entirely different, he was taken by surprise.

“When I was in high school,” he started, clearing his throat lightly before continuing in a more confident tone. “I used to be… what people call, a _nerd._ I liked learning. My favorite classes were history and biology.”

Dean couldn’t help his eyebrows from furrowing. “What does that have to do with anything?” He asked, confused, but his eyes were still closed. He could hear Castiel breathing right beside him, and it felt almost natural.

“Just listen,” Castiel said, his tone hinting at a smile Dean couldn’t see. He took a breath and continued.

“I liked doing things kids my age deemed boring or _lame-“_ the way he spoke indicated it wasn’t his choice of words “-but that didn’t bother anyone. The main reason for my unpopularity in high school was a completely different matter. I often got in trouble for things I didn’t mean to say, or said with good intentions. But I’m sidetracking.” He paused, watching Dean’s chest lift and then sink down, and tried to phrase his thoughts.

“One time, I said the wrong thing to the wrong guy – someone from my class called Michael. He got mad and beat the hell out of me.” His fingers brushed absent-mindedly over his elbow. “That wasn’t a problem; I have two older brothers, I’ve had my fair share of brawling as a child, and I can’t say Michael went home without a scratch that day – maybe that was the reason he didn’t stop there.”

Dean’s chest lifted and dropped slowly.

“See, Michael knew I wanted to become a surgeon – my brother used to talk about it all the time before he graduated. Exam season was coming up and I studied hard, as I would. When we took our final math test, Michael copied my answers and made it look like I copied his.”

He searched Dean’s face for a reaction, but there was none. Allowing himself the feeling of satisfaction, he kept going.

“I had to retake the exam, but regulations only allowed me to take it three months later.” Although he knew Dean wasn’t listening anymore, he kept his voice strict and informative. “The results weren’t good enough to get me into medical school.”

He paused now for a long moment. Dean didn’t seem to mind the stop; his work here was done.

As he stood up from his chair, he pondered at the summer that followed his failed exam, years ago. To this day, he didn’t know whether Michael’s revenge ruined his life or saved him from a path he only thought he wanted. He didn’t think he’d ever know.

Before he left the room, he took one more look at Dean snoring lightly into his pillow.

Perhaps he wasn’t able to help people the way he wanted, but it seemed probable now that he could help Dean.

Life worked in mysterious ways.


	3. Safe as Houses

“I can see you, y’know,” Dean noted, not looking up from his book. “I haven’t been serving for ten years for my sense of humor.”

Castiel stopped hovering by the door and walked in. “Excuse me,” he apologized. “The longer I’ve had the idea of coming here, the worse it seemed.”

“Don’t apologize,” Dean said and closed his book. “Company is welcome after spending over two weeks in this place.”

Castiel tried for a smile and hesitantly took a seat by Dean’s bed.

“Ten years? That’s a long time.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean shrugged. Castiel thought he might go on and reveal a detail about his past, but he didn’t.

“So… Did it help?” He asked. Finally, after three days which felt like ten, he convinced himself to come back. And here he was – stammering half-sentences instead of being honest about the reason he came.

Dean, smiling gratefully by his side, didn’t mind his reluctance.

“Yeah, it did. Slept like a baby. And by that I mean I only woke up four times in the middle of the night,” He smirked.

“Nightmares?”

“Not as bad.”

“Good,” Castiel swallowed. “That’s good.”

Dean fiddled with the end of his blanket. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Castiel said too fast.

Dean looked down at his hands and back at him. “How did you… Y’know, do that? I mean, this is a problem I’ve had for years. Then you just come here one day, seem like you know what you’re doing…”

Castiel hesitated.

He could say he had no idea what he was doing; he could say it was some sixth sense he’s had all his life, that made most people hate him or see him as a threat. But did he really want to lose someone else by labeling himself as a “weirdo”?

He could say something Dean would understand.

“I just… distracted you,” he said. It was the truth.

“Distracted me?”

His finger touched the metallic end of the bed, trying to keep his hand busy. Before Dean could notice, he pulled it back and rested it on his lap.

“You repress the memories when you are awake. You try to occupy your mind with anything else to forget. This is a hospital, so you can’t drink like you used to.” When he looked up, Dean was staring at him, and he halted abruptly. “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to be rude...“ He did it again. Oh God.

“How did you know that?” Dean cut him off.

“It was obvious... I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have-“

“Obvious?”

Castiel closed his mouth and looked at him.

“Well… yes. If my father gets drunk every other night thinking about his failed career, I imagine someone who saw people’s limbs get cut off, or things like that… They’d do anything to forget.” He looked down at his hands again. “You seem like someone who follows the rules, so I figured you’d turn to a… legal retreat, rather than other options.”

He didn’t look up, but the tense quiet gave in the fact that Dean was still gaping at him.

After a long moment, he spoke.

“I better-“

“Keep going,” Dean said, at the same time. Castiel looked at him, and he shrugged.

_I’m not hiding anything,_ his eyes seemed to say.

Cautiously, Castiel picked up where he’d stopped.

“When you repress everything from your consciousness, it channels into your subconscious and finds an outlet in the part of your mind you can’t control. That’s just common sense. What I was doing…”

_Was something I didn’t expect to work._

“Distracting me,” Dean smiled. “Introducing my mind to something it wasn’t familiar with. Presenting a specific story, to keep it engaged.”

Castiel nodded. “But not one compelling enough to keep you awake.”

Dean’s smile widened. “So you basically bored me to sleep.”

“You could say so,” Castiel said, letting the ends of his lips rise.  For a moment, they smiled at each other in silence.

“I should leave,” he said, his eyes dropping to his palms. Dean didn’t say anything. Trying to suppress the tinge of disappointment in his chest, Castiel stood up and turned away.

“Goodbye, Dean,” he said halfheartedly. Maybe it was for the best; after all, did he really have time for someone new in his life right now? Someone like Dean – someone you’d spend a whole evening sitting and smiling at, or telling your childhood stories to?

As he walked away, Dean coughed lightly behind him.

“Cas.”

He turned around, caught by surprise at the nickname – but it wasn’t like there was anyone else in the room Dean could have called for. Apart from the ghosts, maybe.

“Yes?”

“I… I don’t wanna hold you up, but will you…” He scratched his ear, and shrugged. “Will you do it again?”

Castiel's lips pressed together, working to erase satisfaction from his face. “Alright.” He walked back to his chair and sat down. 

“I don’t mean to keep you from your dinner, or something…”

“You’re not keeping me from anything,” he said, maybe a bit too solemnly. Dean was looking at him weird. Was he being too personal? He searched in his mind nervously, but he couldn’t find a way to fix it. He changed the subject.

“What would you like me to talk about?”

“Anything,” Dean said. He didn’t bother to lie down, but he certainly looked more relaxed than last time. “Just don’t intrigue me.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Castiel replied, failing to suppress a smile as Dean closed his eyes, smiling as well.

He looked at Dean, trying to come up with a story. It was harder than it seemed; he had no idea how writers could do that full-time. Suddenly his father's drinking problem seemed half-justified. 

After a couple of moments, though, he settled for something he could tell Dean.

“There’s one particular day that meant more to me than I realized at the time. It was the first day of high school – I sat alone at the back of the classroom, as I did every year. At the table before mine sat the new student – a perky, troublesome girl who you know by Meg, or whatever nickname you’ve given her.”

“Ms. Grumpy,” Dean grinned, a little drowsily.

“Fitting.”

“What’d she say to you? ‘Hey, nerd, I’m weird, you’re weirder – let’s make love’?”

“Something along that line,” Castiel answered, dipping his head. Dean huffed at his reaction, or maybe at his own joke.

“That’s not exactly how it went down, though.”

“Yeah? How did it-“

“Dean, if I ever want to get to my dinner tonight, you’ll have to be quiet.”

“…Right.”

“Meg was… not like the others, in how she treated me. While everyone else tried to stay a good distance away, she practically chose me. At first I was aggravated, then embarrassed. But she grew on me eventually. And she always stuck by my side, even in my… harder moments – she was there.” His fingers rose to his jaw, chafing against his few-days-old stubble.

“In senior year, we ‘got together’, or whatever people call it these days.”

“Cas, y’talk like an ol’ man,” Dean mumbled, noticeably sluggish with sleep now.

“What did we say about…”

“No’talkin’, yeah.”

Castiel gulped, trying to feel content with the man beside him clearly being on the verge of sleep, but his heart rate wasn’t as good as his mind at ignoring Dean’s nickname.

“We were happy, I guess,” he stammered, trying to return to his story. “But after a couple of years, I broke things off. I didn’t… I couldn’t…” He struggled for words, but Dean didn’t offer any smart-ass comment this time. “Things were changing. I was changing.”

Beside him, Dean started snoring quietly.

“Still, I didn’t let go of her. We stayed in touch. She thinks I stick around because I feel responsible for her, like I owe her something. To some extent, I’ll admit, that’s probably true. But I also do it because she’s always been good to me. And I never forget how I got where I am.” He looked at Dean sleeping restlessly next to him. “I’m afraid that’s something you can understand.”

Dean answered with a snore.

Castiel let out a sigh and stood up.

“I am very lucky that your brain doesn’t register most of what I tell you. My secrets are safe with you, Dean Winchester.” He straightened his coat. “And yours are safe with me.”


	4. Pieces

“So I’m curious,” Dean said, trying for a crooked smile. It wasn’t as charming as he meant it to be, but it had a larger effect than he knew. “Why do you never take your coat off?”

“I’m always cold,” Castiel replied. “But that’s not what you were about to ask.” He raised his eyebrows at Dean. “Come on, be honest.”

“Ah,” Dean puckered his lips. “It wasn’t. But you’re not being honest with me either.” He raised an eyebrow back at Cas. “Show me yours, I’ll show you mine?”

“Please. I’m a dinner-first type of guy,” Cas said dryly, keeping his eyes on Dean’s hands. To his relief, Dean burst into a short laughter.

“Alright. You first,” Cas said, unable to hold back his smile, although still not looking up.

“Fine. I was gonna ask you somethin’ kinda personal, though, so you might wanna wipe that smile off and put on your ‘I’m sad but also mysterious’ face.”

He couldn’t bring himself to be ashamed of the way his chest warmed up when he looked in Dean’s eyes, how they stared back and didn’t let go. And he liked the fact that he could still hear a smile in Dean’s voice, despite Dean’s impressive attempt to keep his face solemn. He liked it a lot.

“I’m ready,” he proclaimed, maintaining a blank expression.

“…Why do you help me?”

“That’s not a personal question.”

“Answer it, anyway.”

Castiel was quiet for a moment long enough to spark suspicion.

“Honestly,” Dean pushed gently. “None of your cryptic _I’m-a-mind-reading-saint_ bull.”

“I never said I was a mind reader.” He tried for a smile, but it came out dull. He didn’t want to go there with Dean, not yet; things were going too well for him to mess it up so soon.

As Castiel was talking – as if already knowing what he would say – Dean leaned his head on his pillow, baring his neck with impatience, and gave Cas a long look. “We’re gonna be here all day, aren’t we?”

“You have finally found your match: someone petty enough to stand up against your smart ass,” Castiel said without batting an eyelid. An impish smile sneaked onto Dean’s lips.

“Answer the question,” he said, without breaking eye contact.

“What…” Cas started, unable to think under Dean’s warm, intense stare.

“Why would you,” Dean repeated, “a biology nerd with an oddly extended knowledge of how to put people to sleep, help me – some random beaten-up stranger that has liquid lunches on a regular basis?”

Finally, Castiel tore his eyes away from Dean’s and looked down. The intimacy in Dean’s voice was becoming painfully sweet. Treacherously so.

“You’ll be weirded out,” Cas said quietly, taking a very thorough look at his palms.

“Hate to break it to you, buddy, but I already think you’re weird,” Dean said, probably making an expression worth mentioning which Cas didn’t see.

“Alright, then.” His lips pressed against one another. He watched the fluorescent light reflect on the floor. “I have… a sixth sense, of sorts. At least, that’s what others have been calling it.”

“What do you call it?” Dean asked.

“Good perception,” he responded. “Attention to detail. Sensitivity. Awareness. Everyone has that. I just happened to have a _lot_ of it; much like someone else I know.” He glanced at Dean’s face.

Dean waited patiently, registering his implication silently.

“It gets me in trouble.”

“How?”

He looked up.

“I have to go home and study, so if you want to get a good night’s sleep, I suggest you take your chance.”

Dean squinted at him. “You’re doing this because you’re too embarrassed to say it to my face.”

“This is entirely accurate,” Castiel admitted shamelessly and swallowed the lump that crawled up his throat. Nonetheless, Dean slid along his bed until he was lying down. Once he was settled in, Castiel reached out a hand.

“Here,” he offered. Dean frowned at it, perplexed.

“You want me to… Hold your hand?”

Castiel lifted one shoulder, dropping the hand. “Forget about it, if that makes you uncomfortable.”

“I just don’t understand… Why,” Dean inquired slowly, his forehead creasing. “What’s it good for.” He didn’t say that like a question.

“It creates a sense of security,” Castiel explained. “Makes you feel safer.” Dean was still staring at him, so he went on.

“Dean, if I would have… taken interest in you that way-“ _if?_ “-I would never take advantage of the situation like that.”

Dean looked at him, his eyes slightly narrowed, and sniffed.

“I’ll hold your hand,” he said, his tone turning defensive. “I’ll hold your hand like a man.”

Hesitantly, Castiel proffered his hand again, and Dean caught it firmly.

“See, I already feel better,” he proclaimed, his lips puckering.

“Dean…” Cas started, distraught. Dean raised his eyebrows at him.

“…You look like a fish.”

Dean’s face froze in the fishy expression for a long moment before it started to shift, adjusting into a grin.

“Can’t make ‘em happy,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. He pulled Castiel’s hand closer so that it rested comfortably between his own hand and his chest. “Now, are you planning on getting home tonight or what?”

Bewildered by the profound privacy in Dean’s touch, Castiel struggled to loosen the muscles in his hand to not squeeze Dean’s fingers accidentally. He started praying to God his palm wasn’t sweating.

“I- uh… where… where was I?” He stammered quite pathetically.

 _Nice,_ his brain shot at him. _Real nice. That’s attractive, alright._

“You were saying that you get in trouble for being smart.”

Leaning slightly forward, with his hand hostage, Castiel tried to relax.

“You could put it like that,” he said, gulping. “I have this… effect on people. I can calm people down. They trust me.” He glared at the ceiling and bit his tongue as Dean – possibly by accident – squeezed his fingers tighter for a fraction of a second. “…Sometimes. Other times, I upset people so deeply that they want to hit me in the face. And they often do.”

“What do you say that makes them so angry?” Dean mumbled.

“Things I notice. Personal details, things I’m not supposed to know.”

“Like you knew about me.”

“Yes.”

“Is that what you said to that kid, Michael? Something you shouldn’t have known?”

Castiel hesitated. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was, through most of it.”

He let out a sigh and felt Dean’s fingers moving slightly.

“Go on,” Dean encouraged quietly. “I won’t interrupt. Promise.” He cleared his throat and his body stilled again, all except his chest. Castiel’s hand rose and dipped with it.

“I could never say the right thing,” he confessed stiffly. He’s already told Dean things about himself that he’s never told anyone else, so what the hell, right? Tying a few loose ends wouldn’t make a difference now.

“Our fifty-year-old animal-friendly neighbor wished me a good day one morning and I told her to call her kids, they’ll understand why she had to get the divorce. I’d told a barista at Starbucks that he should bake himself some cookies instead of trying to kill himself that night. My big brother, Luci, stopped returning my calls after I told him to stop acting like a child and sort things out with our father. I was at science camp that summer, and neither of them mentioned a fight when we spoke.”

There was no reaction from Dean. When Castiel spoke again, his voice wasn’t as stable as before.

“All my life people thought I was a freak, and it took me a long time to realize they were right.” His voice broke. He pressed his free fingers against the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “I’ve ruined every relationship I’ve had before I turned twenty.” He took a long, deep breath, and stabilized his voice.

“When we first talked, I said the things you’ve seen won’t let you rest, and you asked if I knew that from experience.”

Dean didn’t show any sign of life.

“There’s no comparing, of course, but a haunted past is something I specialize in. I recognized it in your eyes as soon as I recognized their color.”

He mused, watching Dean’s even expression and listening to the silence of the room. Outside, muted noises spread along the hall like wind on the open.

“I got a bit carried away,” he said flatly after a moment. “Not with what I said, but… Coming back here. Not letting go. After startling people, driving them away for so many years… I saw an opportunity to do good instead of damage here, and I couldn’t help but take it.”

He would have suspected he’d bored Dean to death, if not for the warm hand still very much gripping his. He sat there quietly for a while, not wanting to let go of Dean’s touch.

Eventually, it got late.

He extracted his hand carefully from Dean’s grip and stood up. Then, on an impulse, he reached out his hand and his fingertips brushed over Dean’s cheek. It was smooth, clean-shaven, unlike the first few times Castiel had seen him.

Beneath his fingers, Dean’s jaw moved the slightest. He pulled his hand back swiftly and took a last look at Dean, before leaving the room silently.

Behind him, Dean opened his eyes and looked out the door. His hand rose up to touch the place where Cas’ fingertips rested just half a moment ago. A slight pinch of guilt nipped at his chest for pretending to be asleep, but he couldn’t stop himself today. The better he was getting to know Cas, the less he was interested in sleep, and the more he wanted to listen to Cas’ stories.

No, not his stories. His life.

Dean rested his head back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling, wondering how many more pieces of his past Cas shared with him while he was asleep.


	5. Easy as Pie

On December tenth, Dean Winchester took his crutches and his half-full flask and signed out of the Lawrence Memorial Hospital. His brother had taken the rest of his belongings the night before so that Dean – who had insisted that no one would come to pick him up – would have a somewhat easier ride home.

Once he was formally released from the hospital, Dean chose a nice, uncomfortable-looking set of chairs by the front desk of the fourth floor and waited. In forty-seven minutes, Cas was supposed to show up as usual. Dean knew that he’d come.

He hoped he would.

He didn’t have Cas’ phone number, or any other way to reach the guy. And, well, he had to say goodbye. That was it – he just couldn’t be so rude as to leave without thanking the man that’s been helping him so kindly in the past week. So he took a seat, tucking the flask in his inside pocket after taking an inconspicuous sip, and leaned his head on his fist.

He stared at the elevator. The elevator did not stare back.

Dean’s eyes became slightly idler with each passing minute. 

Finally, at two minutes to eight, he spotted Castiel’s trench coat in between white hospital uniforms coming out of the elevator. When he saw Dean sitting in the waiting area he rushed towards him, supporting his elbow as Dean bulkily tried to stand up.

“Started to think you weren’t coming,” Dean smirked. His tone sounded awkward to him. Was it as bad as it was in his mind?

Cas dropped his hand from Dean’s elbow and checked his watch. “I’m two minutes early,” he pointed out, looking at Dean with the regular mixture of confusion and suspicion in his eyes. Before Dean could stammer a bad comeback, he went on. “You didn’t tell me you were going home today.”

“Well – I figured, if you really have those super-special psychic powers, you’d be able to tell,” Dean shrugged.

Castiel lifted an eyebrow. “Right.” He picked up Dean’s crutches and handed them to him. “How long have you been waiting for me?”

“Uh, around ten minutes. Maybe fifteen,” Dean said nonchalantly as he steadied himself.

Cas squinted at him. Dean frowned back. After about eight seconds of silence, Dean’s jaw twitched. He looked down.

Castiel had officially won this round of the staring contest.

“…Right,” he said eventually, doubtful.

There didn’t seem to be a way out of this one.

Dean patted Cas’ shoulder and started limping towards the elevator. “You’re officially being replaced with a pack of Advil, buddy.”

After a moment, Cas reappeared beside him. “I’ll walk with you.”

Dean sighed. He’d chickened out of his chance, but Cas seemed obliviously insistent on giving him another one.

They got to the elevator and Dean pushed the bottom button, clearing his throat.

“So…”

“…Dean.”

He looked at Cas.

“Can I ask you something personal?”

“Uh, sure,” he said, a certain amount of relief slowing down his heart rate back to normal.

“Your ring,” Cas said, gesturing at Dean’s hand. “I know you’re not married, so… may I ask whose is it?”

“How do you know I’m not married?” Dean asked. His tone was as blank as brand new printer paper – way too empty to be casual. He looked away from Cas, pretending to read a maintenance message that was taped to the wall.

“I just know,” Cas said, and for once, he didn’t sound confident or witty. His voice was just as blank as Dean’s.

Dean considered Cas’ question. After a few moments, the elevator doors opened with a _ding._ Cas walked inside silently, Dean limping in after him. The middle-aged couple inside scooted over to make space, the woman gripping a crucifix in her clenched fist.

The four-floors ride down the elevator shaft was uncomfortably quiet.

Finally, the elevator dinged and opened into the lobby. Dean walked out, with Cas right behind him. He didn’t offer Dean help as they made their slow way across the ground floor; seemed like the guy really knew him.

“It was my mom’s,” Dean said eventually. They were almost at the exit.

Cas nodded once, not seeming to need an explanation.

“You know everything, don’t you?” Dean huffed, shaking his head as he walked out the front door of the building. “Don’t know why I bother.”

Cas stopped walking and tilted his head at Dean. “I realize that I might have created that impression, but no, I don’t.”

Dean halted and turned to face him.

“Then what is it, huh?” He growled. “Because nothing I say ever seems to take you by surprise.”

“It’s not about what I know, Dean. It’s about what I understand.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” He muttered.

“I don’t need to know anything to see you’re in pain.” Cas looked up at the sky, his head tilting backwards. “I don’t need to know whether your mother died in a car accident or if she burned on the ceiling after making a deal with a demon. It doesn’t matter.”

“Then what does matter, Cas?” Dean snapped at him. “What matters to you?” Because in his head, Dean had already told Cas everything he’d wanted to a hundred times, and the only thing Cas ever did was twist his lips into this awful, pitying smile. Say, “I know”. Walk away.

“You,” Cas said, his voice finally breaking, showing emotion. “The pain in your eyes that never goes away, no matter how hard I try.”

The outburst took Dean by surprise, but Cas wasn’t finished.

“I don’t know what to do, Dean. I don’t know how to make the nightmares stop. I don’t know how to erase whatever’s been replaying in your head non-stop. When I first came to see you, I didn’t imagine I’d come back. And I never meant to seem like some pretentious ass-butt. All I ever wanted to do was help you. That’s all I ever wanted.” He stared at Dean desperately, his eyes so wide that the sight stung Dean’s chest, but Dean couldn’t help but smile.

"I know," he said, trying to sound as genuine as he felt, but his smile only widened.

Cas frowned. "I mean it." 

"I know you do, Cas." Dean couldn't hold back laughter now. 

"Then why are you mocking me?" Cas demanded, furrowing his eyebrows. 

"You said assbutt."

Cas looked at him as if he just swallowed a whole boot. Strangers walked by, but Cas didn’t look away from Dean’s eyes, the betrayed expression not leaving his face.

Dean worked to straighten his face, returning Cas a solemn look.

“I’m not!” He blurted. “I’m not making fun of you.”

Cas squinted at him, but he couldn’t keep up the surly expression for too long, with Dean pursing his lips in a ridiculous attempt to stay deadpan.

“Is… Ass-butt not a customary insult to use?” He questioned. His expression transitioned slowly into a reluctant grin, until his whole face was beaming in a naïve way that Dean knew God was saving only for Cas.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, it is.”

And in that moment – when Cas was staring at him smiling – he forgot about the damn speech he’d practiced alone in his hospital room, or the unnerving feeling he’d had inside his gut all day. He forgot about the dozens of versions of Cas in his head who’d all laughed at him when he tried to stammer an explanation in front of them – and he knew what he had to do.

He only had to lean in, just the slightest, and see that Cas mirrored the movement. He only needed to look in Cas’ eyes, and see the same exact look he saw reflecting in the window when he waited alone in his room, every night.

He only needed to see Cas parting his lips, and to do the same.

And the rest – the rest was easy. Just like that. 


End file.
